


Over-Sensitive

by stileskolpath



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek Loves Stiles, Derek and Stiles are Mates, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Non-Consensual Tickling, Post-Coital Cuddling, Stiles Loves Derek, Tickling, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Senses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stileskolpath/pseuds/stileskolpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles often wondered if Derek’s werewolf senses were always heightened. Like, always, always. Not just when he was wolfed-out."</p><p>a.k.a. the one where Derek is totally not ticklish and Stiles totally doesn't take advantage of that fact during... inopportune times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over-Sensitive

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I have no idea where this came from. I’ve been studying all day, and needed some fluffy, fun, Sterek-y goodness, so sue me. Also, Rebecca (pack-mommy.tumblr.com) is to blame for letting me see this post (http://pack-mommy.tumblr.com/post/63633584893/pumpkinydean-derek-being-ticklish-stiles) to begin with, which I had absolutely no choice but to write something for. I just, yeah. Anyhoo, enjoy!
> 
> -SK

Stiles often wondered if Derek’s werewolf senses were always heightened. Like, always, always. Not just when he was wolfed-out. He knew that Derek literally smell it when he was having a bad day, or was sad, or happy, or horny. He knew he could hear it too. His heartbeat, his breathing, all of it was an open book to Derek, all the time. Hell, he could probably even taste it, knowing is ridiculous, werewolf powers.

“You’re doing it again.” Stiles snapped himself out of his wikipedia-hole of a thought process.

“What?” Stiles asked a little too quickly, affronted.

“You’re staring at me again.” Derek was reading. They both were, actually. Stiles was propped up against the arm of the couch, perusing one of his totally-awesome-and-not-at-all-cheesy-thank-you-very-much-Derek sci-fi mystery novels that followed an antiquities dealer from another world around as he solved the riddles hidden in ancient human artifacts, which, more often than not, came from times the author described as being thousands of years into the future from where Stiles himself sat, legs stretched across his werewolf boyfriend, reading a book.

Derek, meanwhile, was thumbing through some boring-ass volume on American military history in the twentieth century, pretending that he was having a good time. Which was impossible. Because, ew. The book he had splayed open in his hand had to weigh a thousand pounds, by the look of it.

Derek had been sitting like that for an hour or so, holding up that massive, ponderous tome of a book with little more than a flinch of the muscles that popped ridges along his forearm. That got him thinking about werewolf senses in general, and how more often than not, Derek seemed to be able to utilize them, even when not wolfed-out. He wondered if it applied to everything, because all he’d really ever heard about from Scott or Isaac, or Derek himself focused on their always-on supernatural hearing and sense of smell. Oh, and creepy night-vision they got when they shifted. They talked about that too. But nobody ever really discussed the other ones;  taste and touch were somehow overlooked.

“I was just wondering-”

Derek sighed and cut him off. “I told you, we’re _not_ having the knotting conversation again.” Stiles suppressed a smirk.

“Pun intended?”

Derek leveled a side-glare at him. “What do you think?”

“That’s a yes, then.” Stiles shrugged. Derek scoffed and shook his head, before returning his attention to his book. “But that’s not what I was gonna ask about, Asswolf.”

Derek looked up again, appearing, to the casual observer, to be heavily annoyed at Stiles’ incessant questioning. It was an act, Stiles knew. Because, let’s face it, Derek had been around Stiles long enough to know that he _always_ had a question about _something_. And he loved him for it. Stiles knew that was true.

“What did you want to talk about then?”

“Your senses.”

“We’ve been over that too,” Derek chided. “I can’t ‘taste your air’. That’s not even close to being any sort of thing.”

“That was a joke, dude,” Stiles leveled. “Seriously, though, I have legitimate questions.”

“You have lots of those,” Derek intoned sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow in Stiles’ direction without diverting attention away from his book.

“Shut up, you can’t even pretend to be annoyed by them anymore.” Derek sighed, defeated by his boyfriend’s unassailable logic. Stiles knew he was right. He dog-eared the page of his book and set it aside. “I know you have the super-nose, hearing, and vision,” Stiles ventured, “and the strength too, but what _about_ taste? I mean, it’s supposed to be an extension of the sense of smell, right? So if a scent is strong enough, couldn’t you theoretically _taste_ it?”

Derek looked at him full-on, eyebrows of doom raised high on his forehead. “Why do I feel like you already know the answer to that?”

“I literally don’t, dude. Hence the questions.” Derek pinched the bridge of his nose as he flipped his book closed and set it on the couch next to Stiles’ legs.

“It depends. If the scent is strong enough, or I’m close enough, yeah, sometimes, I _can_ sort of taste it.”

“So when we’re…” Stiles left the question unfinished.

“I told you, no. But your scent does get stronger. It’s one of the reasons why I kind of, you know, _attack_ you.”

Stiles smiled. “I’m aware.” He paused as he thought of another question, flexing his thighs over Derek’s lap affectionately. “What about touch?” he asked, as Derek wrapped his hands over the long, lean cord of his quads, and began massaging them gently.

“No,” Derek answered quickly. Too quickly, enough to be suspicious.

‘What do you mean, ‘no’?” Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Derek tried to avoid his gaze, only catching it once with the corner of one eye. In one swift motion, he lifted Stiles’ legs from his lap and got up to head to the kitchen without another word.

“What’re you hiding, Hale?” Stiles called, as he quickly got up to follow the werewolf.

“Nope,” was Derek’s only response. Stiles stopped by the pillar by the entrance to the kitchen as Derek buried his head in the fridge, feigning a search for a late-evening snack. He sidled up behind the werewolf, and let his fingers gently graze the fleshy part of Derek’s side just above his hips.

The resulting start, and high, undignified yelp from Derek was as jarring as it was hilarious, especially as he whacked his head against the upper frame of the refrigerator with a metallic _thunk_.

“What the fuck, Stiles?” He complained loudly, rubbing the back of his skull and checking his hand for blood. Stiles was kind of frozen, halfway between panicked at the sudden flail of the werewolf, and half dying from internal, inconsolable laughter. He had to bite his tongue to keep it from slipping to the surface.

“So that’s it, then?” Stiles asked, as Derek glared at him and continued to rub the back of his soon-to-be-healed skull. “Is the oversensitive werewolf ticklish?” He crooned. Derek glared harder.

“No,” he lied, his face flushed with obvious color. It was his tell. Derek was a shit liar, and when he tried, he couldn’t ever suppress the beautiful, blotchy-red heat that slipped across his face.

“You sure about that?”Stiles asked as he took a step closer to him, threat visible in the waggle his fingers. Derek swallowed and took an involuntary step back, bumping against the fridge as he did. Stiles couldn’t suppress a quiet snigger.

“Ugh, fine.” Derek sighed with a Hale-standard eye-roll. “Yes, touch is one of the senses that gets heightened when someone becomes a werewolf. It’s got something to do with the quick healing. But those of us who are born wolves, some of us have a tendency to be… over-sensitive.”

Stiles lowered his hands, and scooted Derek aside to grab an ice pack from the fridge for his head. Derek flinched involuntarily at the movement. Stiles suppressed another chuckle.

“Is that code for being super-freaking-adorably-ticklish?”

Derek growled. “No.” Stiles handed him the ice pack, which he placed over point that had impacted with the fridge door.

“So yes…”

Derek glared at him.

“It’s not funny, Stiles,” he bit out.

“Oh, believe me, it is,” Stiles answered. “My big, scary, alpha werewolf boyfriend is ticklish. It’s fucking hysterical.” He took a small, advancing step to where Derek had damn near plastered himself up against the kitchen counter. He flinched as Stiles nonchalantly slipped his hands against his sides. “You’re kind of adorable, you know that?”

Derek growled in response, but his body relaxed slightly, just enough for Stiles to pull himself the rest of the way into his personal space and press their hips together. He leaned in to plant a hapless kiss onto Derek’s lips, but was shirked out of the way.

“Wha-? What was that for?”

“Not until you swear not to try to tickle me anymore.” Derek was so juvenile, withholding the contact he knew Stiles craved just to elicit a stupid promise from him.

“Ugh, fiiiiiiiiiine,” Stiles sighed, rolling his eyes heavily. “I promise.”

Derek shook his head and pressed tentative mouth against his with all its usual gentle warmth. It was just hot enough to stir Stiles’ _everything_. He flicked a tongue through Derek’s half-parted lips, and was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a light nip of teeth against his bottom lip.

The effect was mutual, of course. Stiles pulled back slightly, just enough to see Derek’s eyes flicker with that hungry look they always got before… well, you know. So Stiles threaded their hands together, and led Derek back to the bedroom.

\--

“I’m never letting you touch me ever again,” Derek threatened from where he was trapped underneath Stiles’ weight.

“Lies, again. All lies.”

“I mean it.”

“Unh-huh,” Stiles intoned, before silencing the growl forming on his boyfriend’s lips by planting a wet, open kiss on them instead. He smiled as he felt Derek’s cock twitch beneath him in response.

“You’re evil,” Derek hissed, with no trace of malice behind it.

“Right, that’s why you just let me fuck you, hmm?” Derek rolled his eyes. Admittedly, Stiles probably should have waited a few minutes longer after they had finished, after Derek had come across his stomach as Stiles done the same as he fucked into him to break his earlier promise, but he physically couldn’t resist any longer. So no sooner had they both spent themselves, heaving from the exertion with sweat soaking the sheets beneath them, than Stiles had leveraged himself onto Derek’s hips and let his fingers graze at the spots he’d discovered earlier. The immediate yelp and buck of Derek’s hips had nearly sent him through the roof. Literally. When he fell back against Derek and the mattress, he was laughing so hard that he had to literally try and remember to breathe. It was the best thing ever.

“Tell you what,” Stiles offered, nuzzling into the crook of Derek’s neck apologetically. “How about instead of _you_ not letting _me_ touch you again, I just let _you_ do whatever you want _to me_ as repayment for my awful, heinous breach of contract.” He pressed his lips against the thick muscle of Derek’s chest, trailing them down to graze teasingly over a nipple. Derek moaned his consent and twisted beneath him.

“Deal,” he whispered, and Stiles took a moment to enjoy how wrecked the alpha’s voice sounded. He leaned up to sink their mouths together, and was surprised when Derek had him on his back in one fluid motion, and was posted between his legs and looming over him with a dark look in his eyes. He reached up and wrapped a solid grip around Stiles’ wrists, and the human let out a low moan as they were pressed into the mattress above his shoulders. He ground down against Derek’s cock in response, and felt the satisfying throb of it against him as it rehardened. His was also making progress there too, starting to leak pre-come against his abdomen once more. He was definitely, definitely up for round two. He closed his eyes as Derek leaned down toward his neck, every overwrought nerve ready and willing for the contact. He wanted to savor it.

So when Derek pressed his mouth against Stiles’ stomach instead and blew the biggest, loudest raspberry in the history of the world, Stiles had no control over the woefully un-manly and undignified _screech_ that ripped from his throat. Not to mention he nearly brained himself from the intensity of the flail that accompanied it.

When Derek finally expended all of his air and flicked an all-too-satisfied gaze at his flushed and panicked face, it was Stiles’ turn to glare. Even though he knew he deserved it.

“Oh, it is so _on_ , Sourwolf.”

Derek just licked a stripe across the red mark that was forming where his lips just were and tilted a threatening eyebrow, a dark laugh tumbling from his mouth.

“Bring it, Stilinski.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys! Make sure you leave comments and kudos before you go!
> 
> Also, feel free to check out my tumblr for more Sterek-related awesomeness!
> 
> Also, my links aren't working for some reason, so if you want to visit, copy/paste this URL: watchthewolvesrun.tumblr.com


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